


Speechless

by I May Age Regress (shnuffeluv)



Series: The Adventures of Polyamorous Parenting [5]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Fainting, Jethro Gibbs Being an Asshole, M/M, Multi, Non-Sexual Age Play, Nonverbal Communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 20:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17885075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/I%20May%20Age%20Regress
Summary: Tim just has to finish one last thing, and then he can go home for the night. Too bad his body decides otherwise for him.





	Speechless

Tim was stressed. And he knew he didn't have much reason to be. Nick was being more careful in the field since Tim had admitted to worrying, and Clay was keeping him updated on his work as well, and neither of them were pushing for him to stand up to Gibbs. But Gibbs kept asking the impossible of him. More and more and more. Every time he just finished one task, Gibbs would be dumping another on his desk--sometimes literally. And that alone was enough to stress him out to the point of not getting any sleep.

It was a late night in the office. Tim was working on last-minute paperwork that needed to be in Gibbs' inbox by tomorrow, because it was due to HR next week. His eyes were reading the words wrong, either from sheer exhaustion or the start of tears. Either way, he wasn't looking forward to what happened next.

He heard the elevator ding and Nick and Clay walk out of it, chatting and laughing. Tim was feeling a little dizzy as he stood, walking over to where Gibbs was waiting for the last paperwork for the night. Tim took one step, then another, then stopped in the middle of the bullpen, swaying. The floor felt like it was a pitching boat in a raging storm. Gibbs looked at him impatiently. "The sooner you hand the paperwork to me, McGee, the sooner you get to go home."

Clay and Nick were hanging back, not that Tim blamed them. He got over to Gibbs' desk before his legs felt like jelly. He put the folder in Gibbs' inbox, before his legs gave out, his head hit the corner of Gibbs' desk, and the force of the blow knocked him out before he hit the ground.

There was frantic shouting from above him, and Tim didn't know why. His head felt like it was hit with a sledgehammer, and the loud noise wasn't helping. He cracked his eyes open and found Papa and Daddy hovering over him, with Gibbs watching from behind them, face impassive. Papa seemed to be the one shouting, and he stopped when his eyes met Tim's. "Tim? You all right, love?"

Tim whimpered. Words were far out of his scope of expertise, and when he got this little he could never get them to work at all. He lifted a shaking hand and Papa took it. "It's all right, love. Your head's a bit banged up but we'll take you home and make sure you don't have a concussion, yeah?"

Slowly, he nodded. It made the searing pain in his head worse, but he couldn't talk, so it would have to do.

Daddy sent Gibbs a scathing look. "You see this? This is why you shouldn't push Tim so hard. He passed out because of  _you,_  because  _you_  expected the impossible from him," he snarled. Then, his voice softened as he turned back to Tim. "Can you stand on your own, baby?"

Tim tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but his arm shook too hard. He collapsed back onto the floor. Daddy picked him up under his arms and knees and carried him over to his desk, at which point he was put down. It wasn't for long, just for Daddy to help Tim put on his coat and pack up his things, and make sure he was logged out of his computer. Papa took his stuff that he couldn't carry, and Daddy carried him out of the bullpen. He looked back at Gibbs, who was still staring at him. Tim shrank away, just a bit, enough that Daddy felt it and got Papa to murmur sweet nothings. He didn't want to get hurt again, and Gibbs seemed to be hurting him a lot lately. He curled into Daddy further and Daddy kissed his forehead.

Once they were in the elevator, Daddy showed a lot more anger and Papa looked absolutely livid. "I'm going to kill Gibbs," Papa muttered darkly. "He did that to Tim. Our Tim!"

"I know," Daddy growled. "But we have to focus on Tim right now, all right? Judging by the look in his eyes he regressed from the hit."

"That's the only reason Gibbs is still alive right now," Papa snarled.

Tim whimpered and the two men turned their attention to him. "It's okay, sweetie, we're not mad at you," Papa reassured.

Yeah, he knew that, but that didn't make them threatening Gibbs any less scary. He could still feel his head  _throbbing_  in time with his pulse, and a few tears slipped out without his permission. This was all too much, he felt like he was gonna throw up. He didn't even know if it was a concussion or overstimulation or fear or or or...he didn't know what else!

Daddy was readjusting him in his arms as they walked out of the elevator, and Papa was explaining something to security so they didn't immediately rush over or call an ambulance. Honestly, all Tim wanted was to sleep with his Daddy and his Papa by his side, to protect him from the monsters. He buried his head in Daddy's chest as they walked outside, and Daddy murmured, "We're almost there, kid, you're doing so good, just hang in there."

They finally got to the car and Daddy strapped him in the back. "Do you want to drive or stay back here with the kid?" Daddy asked Papa.

"I'll sit in the back, provided you don't speed," Papa said.

"Never intended to with the kid in the car," Daddy said simply.

Papa got in the back, and Daddy got in the front, and they were leaving NCIS. Tim started crying in relief. Papa put a single hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Yeah, I know. It must feel good to go home, huh, sugar plum?"

Tim nodded. He felt less like he was gonna puke now, but words still felt so far away.

"Hey, Nick?" Papa asked.

"Yeah?"

"Do you know if Tim's ever gone nonverbal before?"

"I know he had a horrible stutter when he first started working here," Daddy said. "But I don't know if he ever went nonverbal. It's certainly not out of the realm of possibility."

Papa nodded and turned to Tim. "Sugar plum, are you nonverbal right now?"

He nodded once. He didn't like admitting it, though he doubted Daddy and Papa would be mad at him for it.

Papa gave his shoulder another squeeze. "Thank you for being honest, sugar plum. I'll try to only use yes or no questions tonight."

Tim gave him a grateful smile. He knew they couldn't cuddle in the car easily, but he hoped Papa would be willing to cuddle him when they got home. He was already feeling antsy with only a hand on his shoulder keeping him grounded. He whined softly; he couldn't help it. He needed cuddles, but he didn't know how to say it.

"We're almost home, baby," Daddy said. "No matter what you want, we'll get it for you once we're home."

Tim whined more. He didn't want to wait, he needed touch  _now_  or else he might get all floaty and wrong!

Papa unstrapped himself from his seat and moved closer to Tim. Daddy gave him a look. "Clay, you  _know_  you have to wear your seat belt! I can't guarantee your safety in DC traffic otherwise!"

"I'll take that chance," Papa said. "Because Tim has that look in his eye. Not the regression one."

"Dissociation?" Daddy asked.

"That would be it," Papa said, wrapping both his arms around Tim, and Tim gratefully buried himself into the hug. "But I think he's okay for the time being."

"I'm helping him too when we get back," Daddy said, leaving no room for debate.

"Fine by me, mate. I love hugging you any day of the week, if you allow it."

Tim snuffled and could feel himself being lulled into sleep by the engine. He was rudely awoken when it stopped and he whined. "Oh, be grateful, sweetpea," Papa said. "You're on concussion watch. Do you really want me or your Daddy waking you up at all hours of the night?"

Not really, but he also wanted sleep. He whined again. "I'm so glad it's Friday," Papa muttered.

"You and me both," Daddy said, getting out of the car.

Together, somehow, the three of them made it up to the apartment. Tim was let down onto the couch, where Daddy cuddled him as Papa fixed a snack. Daddy and Papa both gave good cuddles, but in different ways. Papa didn't move, and let you cling to him like an octopus and he wouldn't let you go. Daddy moved around a bit more, but it was mostly for back rubs and kisses and other forms of affection. And he never asked to stop unless he himself was getting overwhelmed.

Daddy was rubbing Tim's back in circles when Papa returned with a big bowl of his homemade trail mix, which everyone knew Tim adored. He happily took it and started eating, and Papa sighed. "That the first time that I  _know_  he's eaten in several hours. Maybe since lunch."

"Gibbs has been running him into the ground," Daddy said. "Even when he's only doing stuff required of him as an SFA. Gibbs is using all sorts of loopholes to keep Tim right where he wants him. It's scary how a man who hates lawyers is so good at acting like one."

Papa growled and Tim leaned his head on Papa's shoulder, making Papa stop.

"You know he's manipulating you right now to get you to stop snarling?" Daddy asked with a grin.

"Yeah, well, I really shouldn't be snarling around the baby anyway," Papa said, carding his fingers through Tim's hair. "I'm sure it doesn't help him feel better."

"You know, we're not on call tomorrow," Daddy pointed out. "We should probably talk to Tim about this again, if he's up for it. Because if Gibbs is going to fight dirty, then Tim should be allowed to fight dirty as well."

"That's if he's feeling up to it, of course," Papa pointed out. "What if he wakes up tomorrow and he's still regressed?"

Daddy went quiet for a minute. "I hope that doesn't happen, but if it does, we may be in bigger trouble than I originally anticipated."

Papa didn't respond to that and Tim could feel himself drifting to sleep instead of getting floaty, and he was silently relieved. Even if he had to be woken up for concussion watch, he could use the rest. He could worry about what the others were saying tomorrow.


End file.
